He Never Smiles At Me
by I Speak Sarcasm
Summary: Wilson finds House asleep and steals his cane and pills. What House actually does in retaliation catches Wilson quite off-guard.


It was only a joke; it always is when he and I mess with each other. I didn't actually mean for what happened to happen.

Actually, maybe I did. I dunno.

But for whatever reason, when I spotted him asleep in his office, I grabbed his cane, and after a moment of thinking, his pills too. Of course _he _provoked _me_… He's House, we've had this war going on for ages, and it was just my turn.

He probably shouldn't have let himself fall asleep when it was my turn, I suppose.

"Where did you put them?" His gruff voice was audible through my glass door, which I had been wise enough to lock.

I looked up at him and shook my head, mouthing "I can't hear you!"

House smirked at me. "Just tell me where they are."

Well I couldn't make it that easy for him, could I? Smirking myself, I looked down at my work and continued concentrating on that, not my friend.

He would have to try harder.

A few months ago, I stole House's guitar. I smiled at the memory; in a fit of genius, I wrote a ransom note.

Perhaps I could do that again… I had a lot of fun with that particular project. But… perhaps it would be wise to use an old magazine or newspaper, as opposed to a new one. I think it appeared a bit suspicious to read a newspaper with holes cut in it.

***

I still liked the idea of doing ransom notes… But I accidentally used some old stationary that I got from Stacy "and House" years ago. Aren't I intelligent?

He rolled in on a wheelchair.

"House… Where did you get that?"

"Well _James_," he said, smirking yet again. He was saying my first name, which set an alarm off in my head. Or at least, I think it was an alarm.. "Wheelchairs are for those who are incapable of walking. This group of people now includes me."

I sighed, exasperated. "Who did you steal that chair from?"

He waved this off. "He doesn't need it for at least another month. Now where did you put them?"

God. I put on as innocent an expression as I could manage. "I have no understanding or knowledge about the eventuality that you are referring to."

He rolled his eyes at me and rolled out.

***

Which is why, about two hours later, I was alert when I received a page about one of my patients. Just because there was the possibility that there was actually something wrong, I hurried through the hospital.

But of course there wasn't _actually _a problem. I positively _sprinted _back to my office, only to find House walking out, smirking yet again.

Does he _ever _actually _smile_?

"That wasn't funny, House. He could have actually been dying."

He shrugged. "I got what I wanted, didn't I?"

I glanced down at his left hand; at first, I thought he held his vicodin in it. Then I realized that it was, in fact, my car key. Sighing, I said, "Give it back" and held out my hand.

Why I thought he actually might, I have no idea. So when he began to walk away, I tackled him to the ground. He grunted and twisted around, trying to get out of the hold I had him in. "Come on House, just give it to me already." I said. "What do you need my car for anyway?"

For a few moments, House didn't speak. It was the first time in forever that he didn't have a witty response to something that I said. Somebody -- probably a family member of a patient because they were dressed normally -- looked at us, confused and curious. "Do you really want to continue this here, where people are walking by and watching us?"

"All I want is my keys, House."

"And all I want is to drive your car some place, and then maybe I'll give it back."

"I thought your motorcycle is for driving places."

"Well, I wanna ride in your car for once. Is that so bad?"

I cocked my head at him. "For some reason, I get the feeling that we're not talking about my car anymore."

House smirked at me. "I'm not."

Was he saying what I thought -- possibly wished -- that he was saying? "Wha – what are you saying?"

"Well, if I remember correctly," he said, feigning something similar to confusion that I couldn't put my finger on at the moment. "I said that I wanted to drive your car some place."

"And in House language, this translates into…" My heart beat incredibly fast as I said it.

My grip must have slackened at some point, because he rolled over so that he was on top of me. Then he leaned in close so that our faces were only a few inches away and said, smiling mischievously (he actually _smiled_), "Let me show you."

He leaned in closer and kissed me. I think he may have meant it to feel soft, but with his stubble it didn't, and as his face rubbed against my own slightly it scratched at my clean-shaven skin.

This didn't bother me, however, and I most definitely didn't pull away.

I had been waiting far too long to even consider doing anything of the sort.


End file.
